An Act Of Love: MamoxUsa Spring Gift Exchange 2k20
by Beej88
Summary: What if Mamoru Chiba had never perished on that fateful day when Galaxia took his starseed at the beginning of stars? What if he'd actually gone to Harvard and had to read all about Seiya in Usagi's letters? Maybe Mamoru might have realized the importance of communication. This is my submission for UsaxMamo Gift exchange 2K20!


Hello, beautiful readers! This is my submission for UsaxMamo Spring Exchange 2k20! My Gift is for the beautiful **Mamaladykt. **So, when doing some sleuthing on my giftee, I discovered a post in which there was conversation regarding what would happen if Mamoru had actually gone to Harvard. What if he was alive? How would things be different?

So, I promptly bought and rewatched Sailor Moon Stars S (as I've not seen it since I was thirteen) and decided to work with it. I ended up devouring S. It's now my favorite season, and then when I started writing this. I couldn't stop. This is very much an angsty, fix-it fic where I did my best to insert Crystal Mamoru into Anime. I hope I succeeded, Mamaladykt, and I hope you enjoy reading it!

As always, I want to thank my beautiful, wonderful bae-ta **Ninjette Twitch. **Why are you so awesome, girl? You're like this Sailor Moon ninja that kept pushing me with your cheerleading, and listening, and flawless grammar skill. I can't even with how much you support and help me in this fandom!

Also, I want to thank **FloraOne **without whom I would have never been able to work out the dialogue, and without whom I probably would have never posted this because it would have remained titleless forever. Thank you! You are a gift to the fandom, and writers like me!

**An Act Of Love**

When he was greeted by the trill sound of the dial tone humming, almost mockingly, on the other end of the line after what felt like his one-hundredth try, Mamoru cursed. His frustration was painfully palpable as he slammed the receiver of the airport payphone down a little more forcefully than he intended.

The clang of plastic colliding with metal as he hung up got lost amidst the bustling din of the Boston Logan International airport terminal. It was barely noticeable above the sound of conversing commuters and the bodiless voices announcing incoming flights over the loudspeakers.

Mamoru still flinched at his uncharacteristic public display of emotion, glancing furtively around him before pushing away from the offending device with a sigh of disgust. Why wasn't _anyone _answering their phones?

Inhaling deeply, he tried to ignore the painfully persistent tug blossoming in his chest; the desperation, panic, and the wholly unsettling feeling that had been steadily growing over the past six months. _He was losing her. _And this time, it wasn't to any of the paranormal-type monsters that consistently targeted her. This time it was to a long-haired, socially charismatic _popstar _that he couldn't even fathom competing against.

How the hell had he let this happen?

The chipper, overtly cheerful voice of an attendant announcing his flight to Tokyo, broke through his tortured thoughts, and Mamoru raked his fingers through his hair, took a steadying breath, and curled tapered, trembling fingers around the handle of his carry-on briefcase.

Casting a final mournful glance back at the payphone on the metal pedestal, he strode forward, dodging a harried-looking mother arguing with her teenage daughter as he made his way towards the gate for his flight.

This was perhaps one of his more impulsive decisions, and he hadn't intended to use the pre-purchased round trip tickets back home until June to surprise Usagi, but something wasn't _right. _He couldn't shake the gnawing, painful feeling that if he waited that long, it was going to be too late.

He swallowed around the lump of dread lodged in his throat as he absentmindedly handed his ticket to a smiling flight attendant, trying to ignore the accusing whisper in his head that was telling him that it was already too late.

He felt an odd sense of deja vu as he made his way through the airlocked tunnel towards the plane, and it reminded him of the last time he'd done this. That time, he'd left Usagi just behind him, his heart clenching uncomfortably in his chest as he tried to ignore his instincts that were roaring in protest at the fact that he was willingly choosing to leave her, eyes red-rimmed glistening with tears, to pursue a dream that seemed small now in comparison to her.

There was something _wrong _with him. He'd known it the moment that tears had spilled from Usagi's eyes, even as she'd tried to put on a brave face and send him off with a smile that she should never have felt the need to force. Not around him. Not after everything they'd been through together.

Still, he'd stood there, and the words that he wanted to say, 'I love you. You're more important than _anything _else. Tell me not to go,' those words had tangled on his tongue and that cold, familiar panic that always reared up inside of him every time he wanted to _be _more, to show her that he _felt more _prevented him, once again, from saying what he should have said.

Instead, he'd mumbled an excuse about how busy he was going to be in the beginning, and then he'd given her a ring he'd bought for her _months _ago. The one he'd intended to give her in a sweeping, romantic gesture that he'd planned as _Mamoru _and not Tuxedo Mask, his flamboyant alter-ego that always managed to say the things that his orphaned, painfully awkward other half could never manage.

She'd been ecstatic, of course. Usagi was like a beacon of brightness that lit up everything. She didn't care that he'd given her a promise ring in a fumbling, last-minute decision.

With a misery-filled sigh, Mamoru found his seat, squeezing through the aisle and collapsing into the uncomfortably tight confines that would be his for the next eighteen hours.

He was torn between wondering if this was the right thing to do, or if maybe… clenching his hands into fists in his lap, he craned his neck to the side to peer out the oval-shaped window at the black asphalt tarmac that was starting to move as the plane began to creep forward.

He should have known that his decision to go to Harvard, even for a year, was a bad one. He _should _have listened to the wisp of warning twinging in his chest, coiling threateningly in the pit of his stomach.

It was easy to ignore at first, but all of his good intentions, his denial that this was the right decision, flew out of the window the first time he'd felt _that _tug in his chest. The persistent, panic-inducing tug that had yanked him from sleep, jolting him into an upright position in his bed in his darkened, temporary apartment near Harvard's campus.

He'd felt helpless before. There were so many moments that he'd despaired, panicked, and wallowed in worry. There was not a single moment that compared to that one, though. _Knowing _that Usagi was across the world transforming into Sailor Moon and he was trapped here, in the United States, unable to help her.

He should have dropped everything and flown home _that night. _For some unfathomable reason, he'd hesitated. After spending the early hours of the morning panicking, fingers trembling as they clumsily dialed every number he knew, she'd finally answered the phone.

He recalled the way his knees had buckled as he'd collapsed into his wooden desk chair, fingers curled so tightly around the black plastic receiver of the cheap, corded VTech phone that his knuckles were bleached white when she spoke.

She was breathless, her voice like velvet, love, and _home_. He'd been so relieved, the tension uncoiling from the corded muscles in his neck and shoulders, his breathing shuddered. He should have _told _her that. He should have told her that he couldn't take it, being here, knowing he should be with her.

Instead, just like always, the right words were lost, and his tone was unnecessarily harsh when he'd demanded to know what was going on in a chastising tone that was so unwarranted, it hurt for him to think about now.

In true Usako-like fashion, she'd giggled, nervous and sweet, in that way that he wished he could see her face while she was doing it, and she reassured him that it was _nothing. _Just some leftover daimon eggs that were suddenly rising from dormant states. Nothing that she couldn't handle. And was Harvard fun? Was he following his dream?

He'd wanted to tell her _no. _That this felt like the furthest thing from his dream, instead, he'd said yes, and she'd _apologized _that she'd woken him up with her transformation when he was probably so busy.

The motion of the plane lifting into the air startled him from his thoughts, and Mamoru exhaled miserably, leaning forward to rake his palms over his face. Eighteen hours. He had _eighteen hours _to recall every moment that he'd gone wrong. Every word that he should have said, but hadn't. How he'd let the horribly crippling insecurities of his past get in the way of his future with _her. _How he'd ultimately botched this so badly that she'd been forced into the arms of another boy.

If he'd left the next day, maybe things would have been different. Instead, he'd done what he'd always done. He'd pressed down any semblance of emotion aside and buried himself in the admittedly overwhelming workload that came hand in hand with attending an ivy league American school. At first, it had worked. Calling Usagi was difficult with the fourteen-hour time difference, and he missed her calls more often than not.

But in the moments that he did reach her on the phone, just before he left for class and she went to bed, the gnawing, painful feeling that this wasn't where he was supposed to be only grew stronger.

He felt it every time that she transformed, and the panic didn't dissipate over time, despite her reassurance that it was nothing. That he didn't need to come back. That everything was okay at home, and she knew how important this was for him.

Again, he missed his opportunity to tell her that it was important. Of course it was. But not like her. It would _never _be as important as _her_.

He wanted to tell her that he clutched the picture of her and Chibi-Usa every night, tears in his eyes from missing her so much, and he brought it with him, tucked away in his bag, wherever he went. But those words just wouldn't come no matter how hard he'd tried to say them. He wished that he could be with her, transform into Tuxedo Mask, and say all of the things he couldn't say as Mamoru from behind the safety of his white domino mask.

Instead, he _worried, _and stupidly missed some of her calls on purpose. It was only one year, he told himself, and he had _time_. He'd barrel through this, go home, and he would work on this paralyzing inability to tell her how he felt.

Then the letters started coming in.

At first, he'd been excited, eagerly tearing open the envelope where she'd messily scrawled her name, usually followed by a bunny doodle or two. He ate up her words with desperate eyes; tried to imagine himself living through those moments with her through her words. It was only later when she'd begun to casually mention the three lights, particularly Seiya, that dread unfurled like poison in his chest. Then, with every letter, every mention of Seiya, it grew, until the sight of her letters made his heart drop into the pit of his stomach.

It wasn't only that she wrote about Seiya, _a lot. _Usagi was forever making friends, pulling the brokenhearted, downtrodden up into her orbit of love and brightness. It was that he could _feel _her pulling away. She was holding something back from him when they spoke, remaining silent about so many parts of her day. Did it have something to do with Seiya, too?

The moment that he'd entertained that horrifying thought, the idea that he'd somehow _lost _his chance to make sure she knew that she was his reason for breathing, he couldn't help but obsess over _who _Seiya was. Surely he was _wrong. Surely _he imagined this.

He was ashamed to admit that he'd used the limited internet access available to students in the Harvard library, drumming his fingers impatiently along the desk as he waited for the painfully slow dial-up service to connect. It was surprisingly easy to find information about the Three lights online. Their popularity had even reached across the world into North America with their hauntingly addictive melodies.

His first inclination had been irritation because why the hell were popstars attending high school? And why did it have to be _her _high school? He wasn't surprised that they'd gravitated towards his princess; even less surprised that she'd taken them under her wing.

He was bristling, annoyed, and uncomfortably jealous. It was only later when he discovered a picture of Usagi and Seiya on a poorly crafted tabloid website labeled "Seiya Kou has a girlfriend. Exclusive shots of the couple leaving Ichinohashi park!" that he knew this was horrifyingly real. Because, though the pictures weren't the best quality, grainy, low lighting, there was no mistaking the twin ribbons of golden hair tumbling over her shoulders.

His face paled, fingers frozen over the mouse, the cursor hovering over the brown and yellow striped shirt of the smirking popstar who stood beside her. What struck him the hardest was the look on her face. Even in the pixels of the low-quality picture, the smile on her face shone brightly. Up until that moment, he'd entertained the thought that Seiya was falling in love with Usagi. Because who wouldn't? But was she falling for him, too?

It was at that moment that a sense of overwhelming guilt overshadowed his jealousy. He was tortured by the thought, clutching their family picture— _his _family— tossing in bed the following night, twisting miserably in the sheets as he fought back tears. This was his fault. This was because she didn't know. He'd never really told her.

He'd needed to know if it was too late. Maybe he was wrong about this? Maybe she was pulling away for other reasons? It was the middle of the night, but only mid-afternoon in Tokyo, so he'd strengthened his resolve to communicate for once as he stumbled in the darkness, slivers of moonlight illuminating his path to the phone perched on his desk and actually called her.

Afterward, he wished that he hadn't.

She was breathless when she answered, "Moshi Moshi."

He bit back a sigh of relief, eyes fluttering shut as he clutched the receiver close to his ear. "_Usako." _

He'd relished the hitch in her breath, and his heart skipped a beat when he imagined the way her lips parted. "Mamo-chan?" she chimed, her tone rising an octave in surprise. "Is that you? Isn't it very late in America? Are you okay?"

It _was _late, and he grimaced with guilt at the tone in her voice. He should have called her more. He shouldn't have let his insecurities keep him from answering the phone when she'd called him, and he opened his mouth, ready to finally tell her all of this when she gasped, yelping in surprise. "Chibi-chibi! Now you've got cake all over me, too!"

He snapped his mouth shut, frowning into the darkness. "Usako? Who's Chibi-Chibi?"

His thoughts instantly gravitated towards Chibi-Usa, their pink-haired future daughter that they'd sent off to 30th century Tokyo before he'd decided to come to Harvard in the first place. He couldn't help the way his eyes narrowed suspiciously, heart skipping a beat when Usagi giggled. It wasn't that sweet, nose-scrunched-up-adorably type of giggle either. This was a nervous giggle that he didn't understand.

"Oh, well, she's that little girl that I told you about before, Mamo-chan," she explained, a hitch in her tone. "The one that followed Luna and me home that one day?"

Mamoru did vaguely recall her mentioning something in passing, though that didn't explain why she was currently with Usagi. "And she's staying with you?"

Usagi cleared her throat, stumbling a bit over her words in a way that alarmed him. "Well, er, it's a bit complicated, Mamo-chan. And I'm so happy to hear your voice. Are you sure everything is okay?"

She'd softened her tone with that doting edge that typically made him melt inside, but this time, there was something else in her voice too. She was distracted, rushed as if she was keeping something from him.

He slowly lowered himself into the desk chair, raking his free hand through his hair, trying desperately not to panic. "Explain it to me, Usako," he rasped. "I have time."

Usagi paused before sighing. "Mamo-chan," she whispered brokenly. "I don't want you to worry. I swear everything is okay. I— I want to hear all about _you_. We rarely get to talk on the phone. Have you been getting my letters?"

She was deflecting, and the strained tone of her voice worried him. Maybe this wasn't about Seiya? That thought frightened him more than if it was about another boy because though she'd assured him that her constant transformations were just lingering Daimon presence, the notion that she might be in danger, and he wasn't there...

"Usako, what's going on?"

Before she could answer, their conversation was interrupted by the muffled sound of shouting at her end of the line. Usagi yelped, and there was a scuffling sound followed by a thud, presumably as she dropped the phone.

Mamoru stood again, heart rate accelerating. "Usa?" he snapped into the phone. "Is everything okay?"

She didn't answer for two heart-stopping, panic-inducing moments, and every muscle in his body pulled so tautly he thought it might snap when she finally picked up the receiver.

This time she was distracted, breathless, infinitely flustered when she answered. "Mamo-chan, I'm so sorry," she panted. "I'm _fine. _The girls just got here and then there was some yelling because Seiya was in the hallway in just a towel—"

Of all of the things she could have uttered at that moment, _that _was not a response he'd ever imagined. The pained breath he hissed through his teeth was utterly involuntary when he interrupted her. "_What?" _

"Oh. _Oh! _No, Mamo-chan, it's not like that. See, there's this burglar? And I was a little afraid? So, Seiya offered to stay over for the night, but then there was a cake incident, and then, oh, Mamo-chan. I swear, this is coming out _all _wrong."

He should have asked her more; he should have said _something. _He'd called her to communicate, after all. It was just that the thought of losing her, in that instant, was suddenly so overwhelming the words stuck in his throat.

"It's fine, Usako," he'd snapped instead of pleading with her to _love _him, to _choose _him as he should have. "I have to go. I have to be up early for a research lab in the morning."

"Oh, of course," she whispered, deflated in a way that tore him up inside. "I'm sorry, Mamo-chan. I know you're busy."

It was only after he hung up the phone that it occurred to him that Usagi had essentially apologized for bothering him when he'd been the one to call her.

He'd avoided her calls after that. Like an idiot, he'd wallowed in self-pity. He was only going through the motions, dark-eyed, exhausted, _devastated. _He'd once destroyed an empire just to be with her, but he wasn't Endymion anymore. Now he was the lonely orphan who couldn't manage the words to tell her how he _felt _unless he was wearing a black silken cape behind a mask as he was whisking her out of danger.

She deserved more than that, and he would fight until the ends of the earth to keep her. _Unless… _unless Seiya was what she wanted too.

It was only with that painful realization that he decided to fly home and make sure. He needed to make sure that he wasn't making a mistake, that Seiya wasn't going to hurt her. Usagi was so trusting, and he _had _to know.

It took him less than a day to make arrangements with his professors, shuffle around some things in his schedule, and exchange the date on his ticket for the next day for an additional fee. Of course, it occurred to him as he entered the airport that he probably should have called one of the Senshi to let them know that he was coming, and why.

It was too late now, though, and Mamoru's lips pressed into a thin, grim line as he let his head fall back onto the headrest, losing himself in the rhythmic motions of the plane slicing through clouds and fog as it barrelled towards Tokyo. Towards home.

Half-way through his flight, bleary-eyed and restless, he shoved on the cheap plastic headset offered to him by the flight attendant, connecting to the complimentary in-flight radio to find a distraction from the pained inner turmoil of his thoughts.

Of course the moment he flipped them on, the haunting chords of the three lights' melody assaulted his senses, and with a murmured curse, he ripped them off again. He gritted his teeth, turning towards the window instead.

Search for your love, indeed.

oOo

The relief from coming home, stepping into the brightly lit terminal at Narita international airport, was short-lived. The oppressive pressure of exhaustion from jet-lag was nothing compared to the heartwrenching decision he'd come to on the plane.

He needed to see her. In fact, it felt like every molecule in his body was thrumming, impatiently vibrating in anticipation with the knowledge that he was home, and he was so close to fixing his eyes onto the soft, achingly beautiful contours of her face. He was so close to being able to bask in the warmth of her laughter, her smile, the loving aura she unwittingly emitted with her endless capacity to love.

It was the knowledge that he couldn't go to her, _not ye_t, that tightened the muscles in his neck and shoulders, a miserable scowl fixed onto his face as he stood frozen in place in the middle of a bustling airport. First, he needed to find Seiya. He needed to _know _in case he spoke with her, and she said…

He internally recoiled away from the thought, jolting out of his daze and striding purposely through the terminal. Luckily, he knew exactly where the three lights were going to be tonight. He'd seen the promotional announcements flashing in half-loaded Tokyo advertisements online. In the back of his mind, he'd always expected that he would come to this decision upon landing, and he planned to corner the popstars before their scheduled performance this evening in Hibiya park.

By the time he'd deposited his luggage at his apartment, pointedly ignoring the thin layer of dust that covered everything, the sun was sinking below the horizon, the streaks of orange and red fading as they softened the edges of the Minato skyline.

He fixed his gaze briefly on his phone, hesitating before ultimately ignoring the driving need to call Usagi or one of the other girls before he transformed into Tuxedo Mask. Breathing a sigh of relief as the comforting weight of his cape fell into place, he knelt, knees brushing across the concrete pad of his terrace before propelling himself upward, vaulting into the air.

It was invigorating leaping from rooftop to rooftop in single bounds. The dexterity and strength granted to him via the powers bestowed upon Tuxedo Mask thrummed through his veins. It was like stretching after being trapped in a prone position for months. The burning sensations coiling in his flexing muscles were overwhelmingly comforting when he finally arrived at his intended destination.

Without the limber, discreet movements of Tuxedo Mask, there was no way he would have been able to carve a path through crowds of squealing teenage girls and solemn-faced, bulky security guards that held firm in front of the only pathway that led backstage.

There was a pang in his chest as it occurred to him that Usagi might be one of the faceless girls gathering in front of the raised dais. He had to force the thought aside as he carefully slipped past security, heart racing as he dropped his transformation and followed the makeshift hallway behind the stage.

He wasn't sure what his plan had been, and typically he was more strategic, _more prepared _when he was jumping head first into potentially dangerous situations. And this was very dangerous. To his heart, at least. It was usually Usagi who barrelled headfirst with her emotions, not him.

Needless to say, he wasn't fully prepared when he finally found the popstars, and Mamoru froze in his tracks, cobalt gaze quickly glancing over them in a swift, cold perusal. He recognized Seiya instantly. The image of that particular Starlight member had haunted him for the better part of a month. Though he didn't expect to find him injured, gauze carefully wrapped around his head.

The other two he was less familiar with, but he gathered from Usagi's letters and what he'd read online that the silver-haired one with the fierce scowl was Yaten, and the taller one with a lethal glare was Taiki.

Yaten was the first to step forward, brow furrowing with irritation as he regarded Mamoru coldly. "Stop," he snapped. "Nobody is supposed to be back here. Who are you?"

Mamoru paused, expression carefully guarded as he stopped, jaw clenched as his gaze met Seiya's over Yaten's head. "My name is—"

Seiya was quick to step forward, interrupting Mamoru, stunning him with the full brunt of the rage contorted onto his features that were partially hidden beneath the bandages on his head. "I know who you are," he hissed, and Mamoru's heart twisted in his chest, blood draining from his face. "I recognize you from the picture in her room."

He knew this was going to hurt, he'd mentally been preparing himself for this moment, but he hadn't been ready for just how badly it was going to sting hearing those words. Seiya had been to her house, _in her room. _The sinking feeling of devastation and loss made it almost impossible to keep his expression impassive.

He took a second to compose himself before squarely meeting Seiya's fury-filled gaze head-on. This was why he was here, after all. To find out the type of person Seiya was. "Yes, Chiba Mamoru."

Yaten and Taiki's gaze darted between them in confusion, the tension building when Seiya snorted. "What are you expecting, Chiba?" he sneered. "Do you want me to shake your hand?"

Mamoru shook his head, swallowing past the lump in his throat. "No," he responded, surprised that his tone belied the roiling emotions rolling through him. "I'm not expecting anything."

Seiya's brow furrowed, eyes hard with anger. "Does she know that you're here?"

Again, Mamoru shook his head. "No, I haven't seen her yet," he confessed, recoiling at the look of sheer disbelief that crossed Seiya's face. "I wanted to see you first."

Seiya snorted, laughing, the sound humorless, tinged with a hysteria that Mamoru understood well. "Why?" he rasped. "What the hell do you want with me?"

With his heart pounding, cold sweat pooling at the base of his neck, it took everything Mamoru possessed to ignore the way his throat was closing up. The words he needed to ask to find out what he didn't want to know, tangling on the tip of his tongue.

This was important, though. Usagi was _everything. _He needed to know, and, despite the paralyzing fear shredding through him, his gaze and voice were steady when he answered Seiya. "I wanted to know if she was happy." _If you were making her happy._

It was the best he could manage without giving in to his need to flee, and he wasn't sure what he expected from the boy that might be better for Usagi than he was. Maybe a gloating smirk and a smug look? He was unprepared for the unadulterated cry of fury that tore from his lips as he surged forward.

Mamoru took a startled step back in tandem with Seiya's step forward, but the pop star didn't make it very far, stumbling, probably to his knees if Taiki and Yaten hadn't caught him on either side.

Taiki's reproachful scowl was fierce, though edged with worry as he cut an irritated glance towards his brother. "Seiya," he hissed through gritted teeth. "Take it easy."

Seiya seemed calmer, and he straightened, wobbling unsteadily as he shrugged out of their grip. "I'm _fine,_" he snapped crisply, lifting his gaze to meet Mamoru's again. "How could you even ask me that? Of _course _she isn't happy, you asshole. If it had been me, I never could have abandoned her to face this alone."

Mamoru straightened his spine, breath hitched, brow furrowing in alarm. "What are you talking about?" he demanded. "Face _what _alone?"

It was the first time that a glint of uncertainty flashed through Seiya's eyes, however brief. He seemed to be considering something, his expression shuttered. "Do you know _who _she is?"

Mamoru inhaled sharply because the question was cryptic, vague at best, but there was no way he could have missed the double meaning layered in his words. "Do _you _know who she is?"

Yaten, apparently impatient with the conversation, exhaled loudly with frustration. "We don't have time for this, Seiya," he snapped. "What's going on? Who is this?"

Seiya hesitated, faltering slightly before responding. "Usagi's boyfriend."

Yaten and Taiki's demeanors instantly changed. Both boys squared their shoulders, determined, menacing scowls falling into place as they took an angry step forward. "He's one of _them, _then, Seiya," Taiki all but growled. "You promised the Senshi you would stay away from anything associated with _her_."

It was at that moment that Mamoru felt like a complete and total moron. He should have known. He should have had more faith in her because, though it was very evident that Usagi meant something to Seiya, there was _more _happening here. _Something _that involved the Senshi. _Something _that Usagi had kept from him because —he cursed angrily under his breath— _because _she didn't want him to give up his dream. Which, he'd never clarified was one hundred percent _her. _

He was desperate to know everything now. The guilt that he'd let her fight without him so painfully overwhelming as he took a panicked step towards them. "Tell me," he rasped, his tone raw with the emotion he could no longer hide. "Tell me what's going on. I didn't know, dammit. _I swear. _I didn't know."

Seiya must have recognized the truth in his words, whether it was because they were kindred spirits that couldn't help but love her, or because it was impossible to ignore the pleading look in his eyes; it didn't matter. Mamoru knew the instant that Seiya realized it because his shoulders slumped, his eyes filled with resignation.

Before Seiya could respond, Taiki interrupted him. "No," he hissed, steely-eyed, and angry. "We don't have time for this. Telling you anything is a waste of our time." He snapped his angry gaze towards Seiya. "We have a concert to perform, Seiya. To find our Princess. This doesn't concern him."

Mamoru's desperation swiftly turned into frustration, and his glare was just as lethal as Taiki's. "I don't know who you are, and I think it's painfully evident that I don't know much of anything that's transpired since I stupidly left Tokyo, but let me be clear about one thing. Usagi is the _only _Princess I am currently concerned with, and I want to know what she's been keeping from me."

That seemed to get their attention as Taiki and Yaten exchanged startled looks, and Seiya's narrowed eyes met his. "What do you mean Usagi is a princess? Are you saying that she's the Princess of this planet?"

Mamoru paused for a moment, afraid he'd said too much, but there was something in Seiya's eyes that reassured him. However strange it was, he'd gone from jealousy, anger, bitter resignation to _trusting _Seiya Kou.

Mamoru shook his head. "No," he responded quietly. "She's the heir to the Silver Millenium. Technically, I'm the Prince and protector of this planet."

He'd clearly stunned them, varying expressions of shock and disbelief on their faces. Yaten blinked emerald green eyes, breath hitched in his throat. "Perhaps…" he trailed off, exchanging a look with the others, visibly swallowing. "Perhaps there is hope against Galaxia after all."

He was frustrated that he still had no idea what was going on when Seiya tilted his chin up, determination glinting in his eyes. "I'll tell you everything, Chiba," he offered grudgingly, craning his neck to the side towards the others. "I was going to call Usagi to tell her anyway. I'd planned to invite her to tomorrow's concert."

Taiki let out a strangled breath of frustration. "Seiya—"

Seiya interrupted him. "Can't you see?" he rasped. "That's why she came _here. _She was looking for them."

Mamoru forced himself to remain patient as he pressed his lips closed, even though he was burning with the need to know what he'd left Usagi alone to face, eager to get back to her and tell her all of the things he'd foolishly kept to himself.

They looked like they were going to argue for a moment, and Mamoru could see the internal struggle displayed, particularly on Yaten's face. But he ultimately nodded. "I'm not sure I agree, but okay," he spat, jerking his head towards the stage where the screams were getting louder. "We'll perform the first half, Seiya."

It was only when Yaten and Taiki reluctantly left them alone, a shrieking chorus of excitement booming through the crowd, indicating that they'd stepped on stage, that Seiya met his gaze again. His expression was unguarded, raw, vulnerable, and Mamoru felt a pang of dismay twinge in his chest because it was painful to see Seiya so open with his emotions. It was easy to see why Usagi had gravitated towards him as well.

"She's something special, you know," he began, his tone hoarse. "I'm not surprised, actually, that she kept this from you. It's so like her to put everyone above herself."

Mamoru nodded, the corner of his lips curving into a half-smile. "I know," he agreed. "She loves harder than anyone."

Seiya sighed, raking his palm over his face, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "We don't come from this planet," he began quietly. "We came here in search of our Princess."

Mamoru nodded, unsurprised. "Tell me everything."

It took less than an hour for Seiya to recount all of it_. _The horrible destruction of his planet, the dark force ravaging the Galaxy in search of starseeds. That they were Senshi in their own rights, searching for the hope of their people. The encounters that had consistently threatened his planet and everyone that he loved. It was particularly painful when Seiya recounted, in great detail, the battles that Sailor Moon had fought without him.

He was trying to wrap his head around the sheer magnitude of the enemy they were facing as Seiya scrutinized his reaction. It was silent for a moment before Seiya spoke again. "She cried for you, you know. _Often." _

It didn't matter that he'd had no idea what was happening. It didn't make the words any less painful, and his expression was tortured when Mamoru nodded. "I know."

Seiya paused, tilting his chin up with a defiant look in his eyes. "I'm in love with her."

Mamoru exhaled slowly, carding his fingers through his hair. "Yes," he whispered miserably. "I know that, too."

Seiya nodded, satisfied, his expression suddenly guarded as he turned towards the stage. "Go to her, now," he snapped, halting to glance at him over his shoulder. "Don't make the mistake of leaving her again."

Mamoru swallowed, emotion constricting his throat as he nodded firmly. He would never make that mistake again. Seiya squared his shoulders; his back turned towards Mamoru as he inhaled deeply, then sauntered towards the stage entrance without a glance backward.

Mamoru might have been wrong, but he was sure that when Seiya's voice joined the others on stage, there was another layer of longing that made the song, and the message it conveyed, even more haunting.

oOo

His movements were clumsy and rushed as he made his way from Hibiya park, leaving behind the chorus of screams from eager Three Lights fans behind, the chords of their song quickly fading as he made his way towards Usagi. He attributed it to exhaustion, lurking remnants of jet-lag, and eager anticipation when he scaled a towering cypress, nearly slipping as he pressed forward and grasped the ledge of her window sill.

The sun had set hours ago, and though her room was only dimly-lit, it pierced through the darkness, bathing his tuxedoed figure in its soft glow. He hesitated for a moment, heart thumping against his ribcage, his fingers frozen on the bottom edge of her window as he carefully balanced his weight to keep from falling.

He was nervous, suddenly, hideously unsure that he was going to be able to manage the words he'd left unsaid for too long.

Steeling his resolve, he silently slid the window open. He was a little concerned with how easily the window framing gave way under his grip, but all thoughts of safety dissipated from his mind as he gracefully maneuvered into her room, and he caught sight of her for the first time in months.

His breath hitched, emotion constricting his throat because she was beautiful, _so beautiful, _but he couldn't help but notice that she looked sad, too.

He swallowed, his steps muffled by her pink, plush carpet as he stepped into the room. Usagi hadn't noticed that he was here yet, seated on her bedroom floor, pajama-clad knees curled into her chest as she stared dejectedly at a piece of paper on the small table in front of her.

It hit him all at once; how difficult this was for her. Seiya had told him that tension between the Senshi and the Starlights were high. They'd forbidden Seiya to see her, to speak with her, to _fight with her_. Mamoru understood _why _the outer Senshi had reacted this way. It was his gut instinct, too, to shield her by keeping them apart.

At that moment, though, he understood that Usagi _knew _better.

She'd always known better than _all _of them. Hadn't her unfailing capacity to love and forgive granted redemption to most of the villains they'd faced? How many times would they hesitate to put their faith in her ability to lead them?

His jaw clenched, expression hardened with determination. He was here, now. Like he should have been from the beginning, and he wanted, no, _needed, _to tell her every word that he'd left unspoken.

With a swish of black silk, his stride was purposeful as he closed the gap between the window and her small, coiled figure on the floor. By the time her startled gaze met his, he was already kneeling in front of her.

She blinked big, red-rimmed blue eyes, lips parted on an inhaled gasp of disbelief. "_Mamo-chan?" _she rasped. "Are you real?"

Her lower lip and the slumped contours of her shoulders trembled, and his heart skipped a beat as he leaned forward, reverently tucking a curled strand of silken hair behind her ear. "Yes, Usako," he replied softly. "I'm here."

She shook her head, eyes welling with tears that tugged at his heart. "I don't understand," she choked before inhaling sharply, eyes widening in dismay. "Did—Did one of the girls call you? Oh, God. Mamo-chan, I'm _so _sorry."

She burst into tears, crumpling forward, burying her face in her hands, and he didn't hesitate this time. He reached for her. The relief he felt when he pressed her trembling form against his chest, even as she sobbed into the black lapels of his tuxedo, was instantaneous. It cemented what he already knew as he gently smoothed back her hair, waiting for her sobs to subside. He needed to make a change. He needed to fix this.

It was difficult, and the words tangled on his tongue as usual as that familiar cold dread curled in the pit of his stomach in the face of her devastation. He cleared his throat and closed his eyes as he pressed his cheek against the crown of her head.

"Usako, why are you apologizing?"

She was _always _apologizing to him; for being herself, for feeling, _for loving him. _It never occurred to him to ask her why.

She hiccuped, pulled away slightly, and craned her neck to peer up at him through tear-laced lashes. "For _everything," _she rasped, sniffling brokenly. "I don't know what— what you _know. _I swear to God, Mamo-chan. I didn't want you to worry. I didn't want to pull you away from your dream."

His breath hitched, his expression pained, "Usako—"

She shook her head, a misery-filled groan interrupting what he wanted to tell her. "And Seiya, I swear, it's not what they think. I—" she faltered, gnawing her lower lip as if at a loss for words. "He's my friend, and he needs me, Mamo-chan. I just think we can do this together, you know?" Her eyes widened, and she inhaled sharply as if something had just occurred to her. "Unless you don't know any of this, and I'm just babbling and confusing like _usual. _I'm sorry, I'm—"

This time, he interrupted her, and his expression was steady, firm with determination as he lifted his hands to cradle her face. "Stop, Usako," he demanded, and she cringed, recoiling from the sharp edge in his tone.

He softened his expression, heart racing as he tenderly trailed the curve of her delicate cheekbone with the gloved pad of his thumb.

He opened his mouth to respond, his learned defense mechanism roaring in protest, and he faltered, suddenly realizing that it wasn't Tuxedo Mask that he wanted her to see. He wanted her to see him. Mamoru Chiba. The stupid idiot that always inadvertently kept back the parts of him that she deserved more than anyone else.

The instant he thought it, the material of his cape and tuxedo shimmered. The disguise of his alter-ego melted away, leaving just him in its place.

He felt exposed, suddenly, vulnerable in the face of her soft, tear-filled, expectant gaze, "It's not," he blurted, inwardly cringing at the curt tone of his voice. "It's not my dream anymore, Usa."

She blinked, confused, and he exhaled slowly, pulling his hands away from her face to grasp her smaller ones still curled in the fabric of his salmon-colored button-up shirt. "I don't understand, Mamo-chan."

The corner of his lips curled up into a small, self-deprecating smile because of course she didn't understand. He'd never told her. "Harvard, Usako," he explained quietly. "It's not my dream. _You _are."

She stiffened in surprise, inhaling sharply as he gripped her hands harder in his grasp. "I should have told you. I should have made sure you _knew," _he continued, each word he uttered flowing more easily than the last. "I want to be a Doctor, I _do. _I want all of that, but not as much as I want you and Chibi-Usa. You're my family, Usako." His breathing shuddered, and it was difficult to speak around the lump of emotion lodged in his throat. "I've always wanted a family. That's all that matters. I just don't know how— I shouldn't have—"

He was panicking, pulse picking up in alarm because he'd never actually _said _this out loud, and what if—

He'd needlessly worried because Usagi whimpered, propelling herself forward, and he grunted at the unexpected impact of her slender form colliding against his chest. He was quick to steady her. His arms coiled around her waist even as hers curled around his neck, and she buried her face into the crook of his shoulder.

"Mamo-chan," she whispered, her voice muffled against his skin. "I _know _that. You're my family too."

He frowned, a pang of despair twinging in his chest because he didn't want her to reassure him. He didn't want this to be about her making him feel better. He pulled back again, even though he wanted to pull her closer, because he needed to look into her eyes so that she could _see _it reflected in his expression.

"No, you _don't _know." His tone was curt, harshly cut with emotion. "If you did, Usako, you would have told me what was going on. You would have called me the first time you were attacked. You would have asked me to come home."

She flinched, cheeks flushing red as she averted her gaze, and Mamoru shook his head, biting back a groan of frustration because he wasn't explaining this properly at _all_. So he cupped her chin, gently tilting it up towards his face.

His lips curved upward into a sad smile filled with regret. "None of that is your fault," he reassured softly. "It's _my _fault," he paused for only a moment to wipe away a tear that spilled from the corner of her eye, rolling listlessly down her cheek. "I should have made it one hundred percent clear that I love you, and I _choose _this, Usako." His tone was firm, intense, "If I had to do this all over again, knowing how it would all end up, I would still choose this."

Her shoulders trembled, and the stunned, disbelieving look on her face was hard for Mamoru to stomach. "Mamo-chan, I'm so sor—"

The anguished growl that ripped from his lips was unexpected, completely involuntarily. "Usako, don't you dare apologize again." His expression softened, his shoulders slumping miserably. "_Please. _I can't bear it."

She snapped her lips shut; cheeks tinged pink as she nodded slowly, dropping her hands and her gaze into her lap as she mulled over what he'd said. For a moment, her silence was disconcerting, and it worried him. Usagi led with her heart, and she spoke with her heart, too.

His heart skipped a beat when she drew in a shuddering breath, then lifted her gaze to meet his. "I have to tell you about Seiya, Mamo-chan," she whispered miserably. "I'm afraid that you'll misunderstand. There's so much that I—"

He smiled, relieved that this was what was bothering her as he interrupted her mid-sentence. "I already know about Seiya, Usako," he reassured, and she blinked, startled by his admission. "I met him before I came here to see you."

He watched as his words registered, and it pained him to see how easily she accepted this, nodding with understanding. Not even questioning that he would have gone to see him before her. He swallowed, overwhelmed by how lucky he was to have her.

Her shoulders tensed and she shifted nervously, wringing her hands in her lap. "He got hurt protecting me," she admitted on a broken, whispered breath of air. She glanced up at him, and he hated the worry, the anguish glistening in the unfathomably deep pools of her eyes. "I know that I'm not supposed to see him. I know why he's staying away, but I…" she trailed off, grimacing, "Was he, I mean, is he— is he—"

He smiled softly, leaning forward to brush his lips across her forehead. "He's fine, Usa," he reassured. "But he can tell you that himself when we go see him tomorrow."

She gasped, stunned, wide-eyed and hopeful in a way that tugged at his heartstrings. "I don't understand," she whispered, eyes welling with tears. "Haruka-san and Michiru-san said that—"

He interrupted her with a firm shake of his head, "I don't care what they said, Usako," he responded vehemently, and he meant it. He didn't care. "You always know the right thing to do. I trust you, and I think we should work together."

He wouldn't trade the look blossoming in her eyes for anything in the world. It wasn't hesitant, nervous, or embarrassed. He blinked back the tears that welled in his eyes because he'd managed to do _it. _He'd made her understand what he felt, and though there was _so _much more that he needed to say, that they needed to talk about, this was a good start.

Instead, he reached for her; she came willingly into his arms and he coiled them around her waist. She shuddered, straddling his lap, eyelids fluttering shut on a whispered sigh of relief as she carded slender fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, pressing her forehead against his. It was the most intimate moment he'd ever allowed between them, and it was tender, healing, and everything that they needed.

"I love you, Mamo-chan," she whispered, her warm breath fanning across his face. "I love you so much."

He responded by leaning forward, brushing his lips across hers in the gentlest of kisses. Her mouth molded perfectly against his just as soft and as tender as the caress of butterfly wings. "I know," he sighed against her lips. "I love you too."

Even though they'd still left many things unsaid, they lapsed into a comfortable, intimate silence as the tension left her body, and she curled up in his arms. Her legs draped across his lap; her head tucked into the crook of his shoulder.

His legs began to cramp slightly as he stroked the base of her spine in slow, soothing motions with the tips of his fingers. He was sure that she'd fallen asleep when he felt her shift against him, a contented sigh spilling from ample, rosy-hued lips.

"There's still so much to talk about, Mamo-chan."

He nodded, the silken strands of hair curled at her temples tickled his jaw with the movement. "I know, Usa," he replied, brushing a kiss across her forehead. "There are things Seiya told me that I need to tell you."

It was important, and he knew that the moment he told her about the force ravaging through the galaxy that had ruthlessly destroyed Seiya's planet, she'd want to help. She was going to want to fight with them.

Usagi was more perceptive than anyone gave her credit for, and she nodded sleepily. "I know, Mamo-chan," she murmured, turning her face, pressing her lips against the base of his throat. "I do want to hear everything, but right now... Would it be alright if you just held me? Just for a little while?"

Her tone held a soft, pleading note, and there wasn't a request in the world that he could have refused when she asked it like that. Wordlessly he stood, and she slid down the length of him, wobbling sleepily before he tucked her close, steadying her.

His own exhaustion became more difficult to ignore, the restless hours he'd spent on his flight from America weighing down on him heavily as he pulled her towards her bed. Her purple comforter with the rabbits and crescent moons rumpled as if she'd been trying to sleep, tossing restlessly, too.

It didn't take long for Usagi to settle curled up beside him, her head nestled on his shoulder, as she sighed contentedly on the cusp of sleep. He wondered if she felt the way his heart thudded fiercely against her palm that lay above it.

"I'm glad you're home," she murmured, the words muffled in a yawn. "We're stronger together."

He swallowed; the words strummed a chord in his heart because she was right. They _were _stronger together. The emotion overwhelmed him, so it took a while before he could manage a response. When he did, she didn't hear it anyway, her breathing even with the steady rise and fall of her chest as long black lashes rustled across the top of flushed cheeks in her sleep.

"I'll never leave again, Usako."

His whispered promise echoed in the darkness of her room, and before he closed his eyes and succumbed to the pressing call of exhaustion, he silently vowed that she'd never fight without him again.


End file.
